


Vulcan Is Dead!

by wildair7



Series: The T'Pira Chronicles [6]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 10:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14669525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildair7/pseuds/wildair7
Summary: Vulcan is destroyed, leaving only a handful of Vulcans who are aboard various Starships in the Federation and those who serve in political posts. As the only remaining heir to the Regency of Vulcan, it is left to the half-Vulcan woman, known in the Federation as Vera Hopton, to find a new world and rebuild the Vulcan race. The animosity between Spock and Vera grows when he is forced to chose a wife.





	Vulcan Is Dead!

Vulcan is Dead          

 

 

_Personal Log of Vera Hopton, Stardate Eight-Double-Oh-Two, point two-one._

_I find myself truly wife. For six months, now, I’ve been joined to Tlasus as complete_ marrithra _and am happy. As happy as a woman can be under the circumstances. And of those circumstances? Ah, yes. Tlasus is a gentle man, considerate, loving, sometimes unusually loving for one of his species. And such affection I am unused to in life, except from him. His defection to the Federation has been a slight burden but one he readily accepts for his ideals, and I often wonder, if for my sake, alone. Each day brings ridicule of the Romulans from the crew of the_ Exeter _to his ears. But, so controlled is my husband, he ignores all unkind remarks and reminds his former crew to do likewise and turn the subject. He has proven quite knowledgeable in the sciences: linguistics and anthropology exceeding the rest. Even though his true knowledge lies in engineering, he is forbidden by the Federation from working in that section._

_I can see his unhappiness with his state, whenever we are alone, but he passes those moments off as nothing. He often hides his mind from me, so I get no further in my probes than his handsomely blond head, and his penetrating blue eyes deny my worries. Off-duty, he is the best of husbands, treating me only with kindness. For all he is, even his Romulan blood, I do love him and hold him dear. That our lives must part before we wish, due to his genetic condition discovered by Leonard, greatly saddens me and him, too. We had planned a life together into old age, but now that appears impossible. How long we will have together we cannot know. He confided to me just the last week his father died at the early age of sixty from the same symptoms described by Leonard. How much time will we have? Will we ever have those children we desire? Will we be able to see them grow, together, as mother and father? Oh, how I wonder and then worry anew._

_As for my estranged cousin, I do think of him, but only when I receive correspondence from_ The Enterprise _, through one source or another. Sometimes, many of the officers will send me a letter together, each asking a question or expressing a thought for me. It’s good to know I have such friends, in spite of my changed status in regard to them._

_Personal Log: Stardate: Eighty-one-oh-one, point fifteen._

_A transfer from_ The Enterprise, _Lyra Marlain, assigned to my lab. A bright but slightly immature young woman for her age, she speaks of Spock incessantly. Difficult to believe much of what she says. I doubt she realizes he is kin to me. Tlasus says I should ignore her. I must seem terribly aloof to her for all my attempts at friendliness and informality, as she always appears at a loss for words when we meet. Tlasus finds these incidents amusing, as he is almost always with me at such times, and Lieutenant Marlain seems especially vulnerable to his subdued charms. She is constantly smiling up at him with great, blue eyes, widened to their fullest, and Tlasus does not ignore her!_

_Letter from Jim, describing last holiday party on_ Enterprise. _Seems he had an enjoyable time, and knowing Jim, I have no doubts. Another letter, this one from Leonard, tells me not to believe any of what Jim told me about that Christmas/New Years Party there. That Spock didn’t do anything. Now, what does he mean?_ _A short missive from Spock. The second since I’ve returned to_ The Exeter. _He says he was drugged at the party, but I shouldn’t worry about him or the matter at all._

_Stardate: Eighty-one-oh-two, point twenty-three_

_Had a discussion with Lieutenant Marlain this p.m., and what she tells me about said party in question is quite unbelievable, especially the part of what she claims about her and Spock. He must have been drugged! Perhaps I’m a bit prejudiced, but I see no reason why Spock would consider marriage to this person, although I must commend Ms. Marlain for her refusal. Maybe I’ve misjudged her. Now, at least, I can answer those letters._

_Told Jim I knew all “from the mare’s mouth” and not to worry, I still think he’s the sexiest captain in the Fleet. That will shock him for certain. Told Leonard I was sure Spock hadn’t done anything…he’s too Vulcan and, besides, too self-conscious, which no doubt will surprise dear friend Leonard. He finds it difficult to believe Spock is anything so Human. Also told said doctor to watch previously mentioned Vulcan for signs of that unmentionable condition, since it is sometimes erratic and could be early or late, depending …even though Spock knows within a few days. Spock’s surprising proposal to Lieutenant Marlain makes me believe the time is nearer than any suspect._

_That leaves my answer to Spock’s brief message. Should I send the same as the first time he contacted me: formal, Vulcan responses to mundane queries on his part?_

_Stardate: Eighty-one-oh-three, point fifteen._

_Sarek and Amanda reported dead three days ago on Mesthina. Must find a way to tell Spock._

_Stardate: Eighty-one-oh-four, point two-eight._

_The Planet Vulcan of my birth, as well as Spock’s, is destroyed. All but a few dead. T’Pau and T’Pree included. So relieved my foster parents were spared such death. Still haven’t told Spock about them. Other, more important things, now. Because, for now, I am his Matriarch. How can I hurt him, when I rule his life at my whim? Have sent word to Jim to tell him about the work I have for him._

     The sienna-skinned communications officer reran the latest subspace communique from Starfleet Command, unable to believe the words she heard in her earpiece. But she’d not heard wrong. Again, her brow convoluted, then she swiveled in her chair, looking first to the Vulcan, Spock, intent at his duty station, and next at the Captain of _The Enterprise_. Finally, she spoke.

     “Captain…, the latest report from Starfleet…”

     “Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?” asked Kirk, turning his command chair to face her.

     Uhura glanced once more at the First Officer then back to Kirk.

     “Vulcan, sir,” she almost whispered, “it’s been destroyed…completely…every living thing…pulverized.”

     Kirk looked quickly at Spock, and she could see her faint words hadn’t escaped the Vulcan’s ever-alert ears, when he stared at his captain then dashed to the communications console, pushing Uhura rudely out of his way, and running the playback of the report.

     He listened acutely, shaking his head in disbelief, and after hearing the words, back away as if the console’s very material would harm him.

     “No survivors,” he mumbled. “None. Vulcan no longer exists, even as a dead world.”

     Instantly, Kirk came to his friend’s side, one hand on the Vulcan’s arm, the other on the opposite one, directing him gently from the Bridge.

    “Uhura, get full details,” he ordered as they left.

     “But, Captain, there are further instructions on the message. _The Enterprise_ is to rendezvous at Starbase Ten within the week. Starfleet Command has requested all Vulcan members of the service to assemble there.”

     “Set course. I’ll be in Spock’s quarters. Mr. Sulu, you have the com.”

 

     Spock’s eyes were blank, staring into space, his voice mute, his whole body dazed, as Kirk guided him from the lift and through the door of his quarters. Led to Spock’s narrow bed there, Kirk gently sat beside him and released his grip.

     “Spock, I’ll find out everything I can about this. Will you be all right? Do you want me to send for McCoy?”

     “The doctor’s assistance is unneeded,” said the Vulcan, his voice blankly remote. “I shall be fine in a few minutes. Besides, this event has necessitated a more immediate consideration of my future plans, so my mind shall be occupied with that.”

     “All right. I’ll be back later.” Kirk left, pausing to turn and look again at his friend before the door slid shut.

     With Kirk gone, Spock walked slowly to the viewer, satisfying his own curiosity as to how many Vulcans now existed. Since the _Intrepid_ disaster, only a scant handful still lived…twenty-seven to be exact. Ten females, nine contracted to males who comprised part of the remaining seventeen. The other eight had been contracted to females on Vulcan, ones now dead. Only one male, Spock himself, had been uncontracted. Until recently, only one female, the female, who, with T’Pau and T’Pree’s deaths, was now, at the tender age of forty-five, High Matriarch, Spock’s own cousin, T’Pira, known in Starfleet as Vera Hopton, wife to the former Romulan Commander, now Commander Tlasus of _The Exeter._

     How well Spock knew the purpose of the approaching assembly of all Vulcans on Starbase Ten. Command would give them the option of resignation from the Service, so the Vulcan race might relocate, rebuild and renew its number. And, for that, each man must have a mate, which meant Spock must choose his own mate, now, not later, and within the space of a few days.

     These thoughts interrupted by the bleep of the intercom, he answered, “Spock here.”

     “Spock.” It was Jim Kirk. “We just received another notice from Command. _The Enterprise_ is to pick up the Vulcan and Romulans from the _Exeter_ and _Yorktown_ on our way to the Starbase.” The captain’s voice paused before continuing. “There is also a request from…from the new Matriarch. She asks you to research the astral bodies in the Eridani system for possible relocation of the surviving Vulcans.”

     “Understood,” Spock replied, closing his eyes. “I shall see to the matter immediately. Is that all, Captain?”

     “Well, there is one other thing. We’ll be meeting _The Exeter_ in three days.”

     “I see,” said Spock, opening his eyes once more. “I’m sure my report will be ready by then.”

     “Just thought you should know when to expect her…so you’d be…prepared.”

     “What did you discover about Vulcan’s destruction?”

     “The Vulcan Navy reported several alien ships, like none seen before, although we have an accurate description which the naval commander relayed to Starfleet before his ship was destroyed. _The Republic_ is in pursuit, but no word so far.”

     “Captain,” said Spock, rubbing a long hand across his eyes, “I fear I must return to work for…the Matriarch…if you’ll excuse me.”

     “Certainly. Kirk out.”

     Only another minute or two passed, while Spock regained his composure, until another bleep from the intercom interrupted him.

     “Spock here.”

     “Mr. Spock,” came Uhura’s sultry voice over the console, “we have just received a message from Commander Hopton for you. It’s marked urgent. Shall I send it to your quarters.”

     “Yes, at once.”

     Seconds later, the video/audio recording appeared on his tablet, and he activated the file, thinking it most unusual for T’Pira to send him a combination video and audio message. Never had their sparse communications been anything but vocal. He knew she sent the combination letters to their parents, but this time, he wondered why she chose this method, now, among all others. Now, her image appeared before him, dark head lowered and breathing evident in the rise and fall of her blue-tuniced breast. Behind her, he could see the broad chest of a formidable man—most likely her husband—and his strong hand on her shoulder, giving her encouragement.

    

     “Please excuse me for being remiss in answering your latest correspondence. I should have replied sooner, but could not, knowing how what I would say will affect you. You know by now Vulcan’s demise, but be assured our parents were not at home during that time. Unfortunately…,”

     “Unfortunately,” he muttered, stopping the recording. Of course, his parents wouldn’t be on-planet but elsewhere, serving as the Vulcan Ambassador and his wife, this time on Mesthina. That he knew, but what else was T’Pira trying to say? He tapped the play icon and the message resumed.

     “….and this is why I have put off recording this, they met with disaster…” The voice of his cousin seemed choked with emotion, causing her to pause and fight back such an unacceptable response, visibly tightening her eyelids and then raising her head with them open as she struggled to say the rest. “…while on holiday…and…” Again, her voice stopped, and he could hear a deep inhale of breath. “Spock…, I cannot put it more gently. They were killed during a massive storm which produced what is called a tsunami on Earth. Arrangements were being made for the transport of their bodies to Vulcan before…” Her voice choked, again. “So, I took it upon myself to see—”

     Once more, Spock stopped the recording, cursing her for taking what should be his right as

the only legitimate heir to ensure the final rest of their parents’ remains. How dare she? Who did she think she was? What right did she have as a foster child?

     “ _No_ ,” the other half of his brain answered, “ _she was more than a foster child, and you know it. Without your parents care and nurturing of T’Pira, where would she be now? Have you imagined that? What does the past matter? What difference does it make where their remains are laid? Their souls are free. Isn’t that what’s important?”_

With reluctance, he lightly pressed the play icon and continued to listen, barely noticing her visual presence.

      “…that their ashes were scattered across a lake there they dearly loved to visit. We both loved them dearly, Spock, and should both remember them with reverence and honor. Can we put aside our differences and join in remembering them? Don’t you think it’s time, we call a truce and accept each other’s choices in life? I shall see you soon. Please accept my deepest condolences on our mutual loss of these special people in our lives.”

     Silence ensued as the recording ended, and Spock moved wearily to his bed, understanding, now, the more personal aspect of this message having included visual, as well as audial output. Her news was of a more intimate aspect, thus the need for it being delivered “face to face.”

    Above the narrow bed hung the lytherette he’d brought from Vulcan, unused for decades, now merely an ornament of decoration in his otherwise barren cell of a living unit. Long, slender fingers ran over the curved wooden framework and dials then across the strings which echoed mute, discordant sadness at his unselective touch.

     “Why, T’Pira?” he said, hugging the instrument against his chest. “Why did you have to marry Tlasus?”

     As he caressed the wood of the lythrette, he recalled it had been a present from her on his twentieth birthday, one she’d made with her own young hands. What a veritable genius she’d been at that tender age! Nothing had been beyond her capabilities. Now that child had grown to womanhood…and away from him. Or so it seemed, because now, despite this plea for them to put aside their differences, that single act long ago would keep them irreparably apart. An act he regretted then and ever since, and one which Dr. McCoy had pointed out during T’Pira’s brief time on this starship, had hurt her deeply. Despite his regret, not once, in all those passing years, had he expressed his regret, his remorse, much less offered an apology. Then there was her marriage to the Romulan, a marriage which further widened the gap between them.

    Now, he, too, must chose a mate and wed her within three days. How else could he face his cousin? And he must not, could not reveal how deeply her own marriage had hurt him, especially now.

     But who, here, on his starship could he marry, however? Who would be biologically fit to be his wife, wife to a Vulcan, to bear new life for his race? Lt. Marlain had seemed ideal at the time. But she’d refused his offer. Nurse Chapel? No, she was unable to conceive children. Besides, he could never live with such an illogical woman. What if the woman he chose refused, as did Lt. Marlain?

     In the recesses of his mind, Spock remembered during the sixth decade of Twentieth Century Earth, there began what was called computerized dating. Perhaps this would be his means of resolving the problem at hand…elect the ship’s computer to choose his mate. Logically. Unemotionally.

     Quickly, he fed his requirements into the computer link-up from his room: age, medical status, minimum/maximum height, intellectual level, temperament, interests. Five minutes later, the woman’s name faced him on the viewer. Spock nodded as he read her dossier. The computer

had chosen well. Now, all that remained was to ask the lady herself. The computer predicted an

eighty-five-percent acceptance rate.

 

     The day before, aboard the _Exeter_ , Vera sat at the console in her private quarters, one she now shared with her Romulan husband, Tlasus. She had just completed her recording to Spock and sat back with a heavy sigh, relaxing into the comforting movements of Tlasus’s large hands massaging her tense neck muscles.

     “Do you think it’s enough? Should I have said more about their deaths?” she asked.

     A brief kiss of assurance on the top of her dark head, he followed with, “No, he’s intelligent enough to fill in the detailed circumstances.”

     “Maybe I should delete this and wait until I can record without my train of thought being interrupted.”

     “No, what you said was fine. He knows you get emotional, and the way you recorded it shows the affection you bore your foster parents, just in case he doubted it.”

     “I should have told him sooner, though, don’t you think?”

     Strong, firm fingers kneaded her shoulders. “Why? Do you think he’ll hold it against you for not saying something sooner?”

     She nodded, giving in to his ministrations. “He already hates me enough for marrying you in secret. He won’t like I’ve taken it upon myself to see to their earthly remains, either.”

     “Federation Law requires such things be done in a timely manner. How can he fault you for that?”

     “Even his logical mind won’t see things that way. Okay, I’m done then.” She punched an index finger on the “Send” icon and off her recording went into the vastness of space.

     As soon as she did, Tlasus’ fingers left her, and he backed away. “I’m off to bed. You coming?”

     Following another deep exhale of breath, she rose stiffly from her less than comfortable chair.

     “Yes. All these new responsibilities have left me exhausted.”

     As he undressed, she walked to the closet and sorted through the array of silky nightgowns hanging there in a variety of colors and patterns.

     “Wear the red one,” she heard from the bed and glanced back to see Tlasus already under the covers, his carved bare chest and prominent pectorals showing above them and his hands at the back of his head.

     “No,” she answered, “it’s too tempting, and I’m not in the mood for sex.”

    “Then wear the green one. It tempts me less. But you know it doesn’t matter. Just the way that fabric glides across your skin when I touch you is enough to tempt me.”

     Vera withdrew the green, high-necked sleepgown from its hanger and spread it on the foot of the bed while she undressed then slipped it over her head and joined her husband under the covers. Her head nestled against his chest and under his head, she breathed a contented sigh.

     “Hold me close, Tlasus. I need your strength.”

     One arm tightening around her shoulder and the other about her waist, he answered, “I know, my love. You’re safe now. I have you, and I’ll protect you against all the terrible things in your life. Together, we can face whatever comes, and I’ll be beside you throughout.”

     “And can finally have the family we want.” She raised up her head and touched his face. “I know the contraceptive injection won’t wear off for many months, and afterwards, it could be many more, even a year before I’m fertile, but I want a baby as soon as possible, don’t you?”

     He hugged her tighter. “Yes. And with my damn genetic condition, shortening my life, I want as many as we can manage before it ends.”

     “Oh, Tlasus!” she said, hugging him and burrowing her face against his neck. “I don’t want to even think of that. You could have decades, yet.”

     “I hope so.”

     Vera hoped so, too, but said nothing more. His “condition” was something they seldom discussed. From all the research they read on this genetic anomaly in Vulcans, the onset varied greatly, as did the symptoms’ severity. So far, Tlasus had shown none of the early warning signs and those reported to her from his agents—mainly his taking an android lover—had proven false. He’d simply used her as all his crewmen did the other androids aboard _The Cresas_ , as a means to an end during their _pon farr_ , which had come upon Tlasus four months before the _Enterprise_ captured the crew and ship. Personally, Vera was glad she’d vaporized her mechanical doppelganger. As a woman, she couldn’t understand why a man needed a substitute when he had a wife, even one who lived far away, a wife he loved dearly. Men had other ways of dealing with their hormone driven needs, didn’t they?

 

     Days later, _The Enterprise_ rendezvoused with _The Exeter_ and beamed aboard the five Vulcans from her sister ship. As First Officer and the _Enterprise’s_ only Vulcan, Spock met the group, trying to control his facial expression as the forms of his fellow Vulcans finished materializing in the Transporter Room, but unsure of his success.

     As she stepped down from the platform on the arm of her Romulan husband, T’Pira’s control seemed much better. He wore a Starfleet uniform of blue, like hers, bearing the sleeve bars of Lieutenant Commander.

The moment was a solemn one, so only salutes were exchanged and no words wishing long life, since each knew now, he or she must live for the future of all the Vulcan species. Walking slightly behind the new Matriarch and the Romulan, Spock remained silent as a yeoman showed the two dignitaries to their quarters and the other Vulcans—three men and two women—followed Spock.

     As they arrived at the Matriarch’s door, Spock came hesitantly to T’Pira’s side.

     “We did not know if you and your consort would require separate quarters or—”

     Tlasus interrupted, placing his hand possessively upon T’Pira’s arm. “The Matriarch and I always reside together, Mr. Spock. These accommodations will be quite adequate, I’m sure.”

     “As you wish,” Spock replied. “My report is ready for Her Worthiness whenever she desires to see it.”

     “I shall rest awhile, first, Cousin. Perhaps later.”

     Again, Spock replied, “As you wish,” then lowered his head and left, his footfalls hitting the deck a bit harder than usual.

 

     Farther down the hallway, Spock entered his own quarters at a fast walk, then ran a glass of water which he downed quickly.

     “You are upset, my husband?” came a feminine voice out of the incense-heavy darkness.

     “No,” he said, putting down the now empty glass. “What are you doing here? You should be on duty?”

     “Just got off; relieved early. When can I meet her, Spock?”

     “Who?” As if he didn’t know.

     “The Matriarch…your cousin.”

     “Wife,” he said, approaching her, “you must understand one thing. You are not Vulcan and never shall be, so must try harder to accept Vulcan behavior. Also understand I cannot introduce you to the Matriarch at this time and, in fact, may never do so.”

     “But—” she stammered, sitting down, her comely features showing the hurt she felt at his vocal tone.

     Spock turned away. “I cannot explain that which you are incapable of understanding.” He crossed to the desk, placing his hands out flat in front of him, head lowered. “Can you not amuse yourself elsewhere?”

     “Yes, of course,” she said, rising, and left silently, while Spock slumped into a nearby chair, only to jerk up his head again as he heard the door open once more.

     His eyes met those of a woman, hesitating in the doorway, eyes he knew to be feline gold.”

     “Do you have your own yeoman, now, Spock?”

     “No,” he replied, curtly, turning his eyes toward the interior of the room.

     “Then who was the woman that just left? I don’t recognize her from my previous assignment here.”

     “She’s relatively new. All you need to know is she is my wife.”

     T’Pira entered the room fully and leaned against the desk, a smile rearranging her lips with a slight curve.

     “Retaliation, Spock?”

     “No, logic.” He rose and walked across the room. “I needed a mate, and there are no single Vulcan women. But you, Cousin,” he said, spinning about to face her, angrily, “you…as your only living relative, you remain answerable to me, do you not?”

     “In part…as my only living relative.”

     “Then tell me, at last, why did the Council approve a Romulan as your consort? How could they, when they wouldn’t approve me. Why?”

     “They approved him, wholeheartedly, in fact.”

     “Again, how? Only a Vulcan can be your consort.”

     “Ah, yes, but even you, yourself, must recognize that Romulans and Vulcans are brothers. You were the first to hypothesize the Romulan race descended from a banished group of Vulcans from the Before Time. Can you, or any, disprove the Romulans are not, by blood, if nothing else, Vulcan?”

      “No, but, still,” he protested.

     “And neither could the members of the Council nor anyone in the Science Academy. Not even he who was our father.”

     “But, how could you link yourself with someone of such barbaric ancestry, a member of such a brutal, militaristic civilization?”

     “Are not all Vulcans, are not you and I, also, of barbaric ancestry?” She walked up and stared him in the face. “There’s more than these minor arguments, aren’t there, Cousin? I thought you much too accepting of my marriage before. Did you accept it then, or did you merely pretend to accept? After all, in your own words to Jim, you said I did the only logical thing I could. Have you changed your mind, now, suddenly, when we stand here, face to face, mind to mind, now, when there’s no alternative for you…no logical alternative?

     You have betrayed your heritage,” Spock accused with hands clenched into fist at his sides, fighting back his anger.

     “My heritage? Indeed? I think you forget my exact heritage. The emotional Adani mother who bore me only to die, the correctly Vulcan father who dared to defy logic and marry the woman he loved, the same as Sarek loved and married Amanda despite the plans of T’Pau. Is this the heritage I’ve betrayed? I think not!”

     “Still,” said Spock, shutting his eyes tightly for a brief second in denial of her logic, “you are Matriarch and have a reputation—”

     “My reputation? Is that the one I guarded so preciously during my early years in Starfleet, the one made mockery of by every male between Earth and the Frontier? The one I’ve built up from that beginning by the sweat and tears of my life to a respectable one, one the Council did not see jeopardized by marriage to a Romulan defector?”

     “Nevertheless, he is still a Romulan, defector or not, and the enemy of Vulcan.”

     “But Tlasus is unlike other Romulans. He is gentle, compassionate…caring.”

     “Do you love him?” It hadn’t been long since Spock could acknowledge the importance of such an emotion in a relationship between a man and woman, and the importance of it. He felt no love for the woman he’d married, but he knew, very well, the emotions which surged so strongly in his cousin as he watched for her reply.

     She smiled. “Yes, I love him very much. He’s filled an emptiness in my life, and he loves me. More importantly, he needs me.”

     “Did you think I no longer needed you?”

     “You have a mate of your own, now.”

     Spock lowered his head, softly murmuring, “A mate only of convenience.” He raised his head to see her eyes and pierced them with his gaze. “There is no love between us. Never will be. She knows and accepts this. I will breed with her, and she will bear my children. I will be faithful to her, and she to me. But I will not, cannot love her.”

     T’Pira came closer, touching his shoulder as she met his cold stare. “I’m sorry, Spock. I truly am. But that still doesn’t negate my need for you.”

     Spock felt his mind surge with hope. “Your need for me?”

     “Yes. I need you to help rebuild Vulcan. As you know, our race must survive, or all our ancestors fought for, so long ago, will have been in vain.”

     She sat beside him, where he still stood. “I have no desire to leave the Service, anymore than you. But we must. The others will look to us for guidance in the days and years ahead. For, even though the planet Vulcan is gone, other places exist where we might begin anew. At our hands we have the technology of which our ancestors could only dream. We can take an asteroid, move it to any desired orbit around our own sun, even Vulcan’s old one, terraform it and mold it to fit our needs.”

     “An asteroid!” he said, looking at her with other than the usual hidden anger in his eyes. “I’d not thought of that, but now, something inside tells me this is the answer I’ve been seeking.”

     He looked at her more directly, remembering years before when he could recall nothing but single word from an unusual experience.

     “T’Pira, you have knowledge of the language of ancient Vulcan. There is a word, ‘Meldana’ from that time. What is its exact meaning?”

     “Depending on usage and context, it has many meanings. Mostly, it translates to English as ‘perseverance’ but more than the literal meaning. For, it connotates a hopefulness, an immortality for the Vulcan race.”      She rose and turned toward the doorway and began to leave. “Meldana. What a wonderful name that would be for our new world, a name full of meaning for what the Vulcan race has always held as an ideal.” Pausing outside in the corridor, she turned to her cousin.

     “Find our new world, Spock. Find our Meldana.

 

_Stardate Eighty-one-oh-five, point three-zero_

_Have seen Spock. It seems he has taken a Human wife, a young woman, younger than myself, who left their quarters in tears at whatever he said to her prior to my arrival. Must reproach him about his behavior, but how? If he continues treating her so cruelly, their marriage will last only a few years and defy the reason behind his marrying._

 

     At Starbase Ten, the last remnants of the Vulcan race assembled, including a few ambassadors and their spouses who had come to pay tribute to the new Matriarch. Spock’s wife was also present, but for the most part, merely tolerated by the Vulcans. Recently graduated from the Academy and quite tall, almost Spock’s height and rather frail, Vera doubted the woman’s health or physique would allow her survival during the early years of what Vera now thought of as the Regency of Meldana. As to that other woman’s ability to survive the birth of many children, Vera also had her doubts.

     As she had anticipated, all the single males elected to remain with the Service. Possibility of _pon farr_ and its consequences were not discussed, although each man knew the risk he took. On Meldana they would be unproductive. In the Service, they could function productively until their inevitable deaths at _pon farr_ , because for them, there would be no Vulcan to return to, nor brides to await their fevered arrival. They could, of course, marry women of other races, as had Spock, but those would be few, judging by their unspoken opinion and disparaging stares at that particular human.

 

     While the Vulcans spoke of the future of their race, the plum-skinned aliens from beyond the Federation penetrated Romulan space, directing their pulverizing antiproton beams at every planet of that empire they encountered, as well as any interfering spacecraft. This accomplished, the race, known as the Phoebans, returned to their own galaxy, thousands of light-years away but would return to plague the Federation for centuries to come.

 

     Word reached the small group of Vulcans at Starbase Ten that T _he Republic_ had encountered survivors from the Romulus/Remus system, whose worlds had also been destroyed by the mysterious aliens from beyond their galaxy. Of the invaders, themselves, no sign was found.

     Much against the protestations of the Vulcans, Vera extended an invitation to those Romulans to join them and form a new race yet continue the ancient one of their origins. The Vulcan-Romulan species could never be pure; Vera knew this, as did Spock. There would need to be enough outbreeding to prevent deleterious mutation, which could only be insured by introducing women from other races.

     Since Spock had taken a Human wife, the new Matriarch’s first decree was that only members of the Human race would be allowed to mate with Meldanans, or those few survivors, if any of the Silenian race which comprised many Romulan genes. Only by her consent, could anyone of less than half Meldanan blood marry after the first generation.

 

     The Federation gave them a ship to begin their plan, and after a long search they discovered the asteroid chosen by Spock. With it moved into Vulcan’s old orbit, machines and chemicals were sent down to begin the process of terraforming and rounding the surface until it imitated a perfect planet rather than the oddly shaped structure of most asteroids. A breathable atmosphere obtained by huge machines recirculating the planetoids natural one after the terraforming, filtered and added the necessary elements to support life. The result was a slightly orange but breathable air. During the months of building dwellings and other facilities to serve the now twenty Meldanan couples, the vegetation flourished, but each day, Vera returned to her own dwelling weak and exhausted from supervising the construction, giving her own physical strength, boundless energy and knowledge to complete the day’s project.

     “Vera, you must rest,” said Tlasus this particular day. “You exert yourself too much.”

     Like all the other times, he admonished her, she replied, “My people need me. They need to know I am one of them, that none here is above physical labor.”

     The same as each other day, he couldn’t argue, because she was right in this and many other things.

 

     One day when they returned and she’d fallen into the nearest chair, he brought up another subject which had crossed his mind many times in the months since the forming of Meldana.

     “Vera, we should start trying to have a child. Already Spock’s wife has conceived, which I think distresses you as much as me. Besides, the people need to know the Regency will continue.”

     His wife turned to him, wearily, taking his hand where it rested on her shoulder. “You think I haven’t noticed Spock’s wife? Every time I turn, everywhere I go, her rounded belly is there, as well. Distressed? Yes. But I don’t begrudge her the pregnancy. I’m distressed because it serves to remind me I cannot conceive.”

      Tlasus drew her close. “Surely there must be some way to increase your fertility.”

      A topic, they had not only discussed but explored, nothing seemed to work, but neither gave up hope that some new method might be discovered which would give them the child they wanted. Just one. That was all they asked. Just one to love and share.

     For three more years, no woman on Meldana conceived, except Spock’s wife. Her first pregnancy resulted in a son, Selton, the second a daughter, T’Manda. Then, in the third year of the Regency, Vera finally conceived and bore Tlasus a fine son. Suddenly, as if by some preordained plan, all the women conceived.

 

     A few days after the birth of Vera’s son, she and Tlasus named Starak, Spock came to visit, announced by Tlasus who’d just taken the infant from his wife, where she lay on a couch, and was returning him to the cradle beside their bed. Her labor had been long and difficult, and she was still very weak and pale. Walking hesitantly forward to the couch where Vera rested, Spock refused the chair she offered, too politely, almost rudely, she thought, and remained standing.

     “You have a fine child, Cousin,” he said. “Too bad he was not a girl, then your succession would be secure.”

     His words seemed intentionally cruel, but Vera fought back her immediate retort, too tired to fight.

     “Now,” Spock continued, “you must wed your son to the firstborn daughter of another citizen, thus procuring an heiress for the Matriarchy.”

     Did he not realize how his biting words insulted her? Finally, she spoke.

     “I realize that fact, Spock. It wasn’t necessary to remind me. Is your wife well since the birth of your daughter?”

     “Quite well. Childbirth seems to agree with her, unlike some others. I think in the interest of the Regency, it best for you not to plan on further children. We cannot do without a Matriarch before your female grandchild reaches maturity, much less is conceived.”

     “Any plans my husband and I have for future children are no concern of yours…, Cousin!” said Vera, rising to a sitting position, ire coming to the fore. “They are ours alone and not open to criticism nor suggestions of others. That includes you!” She swung her legs over the side of the couch, breathing heavily from the exertion and building anger. “I suggest you leave. You have your duties to perform, and I have no need of you here. Begone!”

     Spock left calmly without another word, but inside, Vera still boiled.

     Seconds later, Tlasus was by her side, and she wrapped her arms around him as he held her as tightly as he could, feeling, more than hearing, the heart-rending sobs which began to wrack her body.

     “Did he say something to upset you?” he asked.

     “Not really. It’s just…things have changed between us lately. He’s so hostile, so indelicate in his choice of words.”

     “He still cares for you, that much is clear, or he wouldn’t behave so. It hurts him to see you happy with me and see me beside you, with the child he always believed might one day be his.”

     “Little does he care for his own wife, not even attending her during childbirth. Instead, it is I who sits next to her, holding her hand, and delivers each one, while the gods only know where he is.”

     “Much as you predicted he would be. But this attitude of his will pass, eventually, or he will return to Starfleet and be gone from your presence. Even now, your duties are less and the strife, turmoil and work to establish this planet begins to cease. Soon, everyone will be content. But for now, come to bed. You need your rest.”

     Vera regarded her husband, his paler than usual complexion, the shadows under his eyes and the droopy appearance of his eyelids. Not that he would admit it, but the symptoms of his dreaded genetic disease had attacked Tlasus in full force, and Vera doubted he could last more than a few years. He slept more, giving the excuse of his added tasks with her being “out of commission” causing his fatigue. But she knew better. Overall, he seemed weaker and his once muscular frame had begun to deteriorate despite his physical labors.

     _How much longer will you be with me, beloved husband?_ she asked herself. _And with you gone, who then will comfort me; who will give me the warmth of his arms throughout the night?_

     Vulcans and Romulans both believed in a spirit which left the body at death, a spirit more accurately called The Essence, a spirit which could attain solid form, but otherwise existed in the ether of space. The Essence would bring comfort, of all types, to those it left behind for however long as needed. It had voice, it had a measure of physical warmth and also seemed to possess the complete knowledge of it’s earthly body. When those who needed the Essence no longer existed, it chose to inhabit the conceptus of a descendant and thus give it true life, a soul.

     It was the essence of Tlasus Vera hoped would assuage her grief and bring her some measure of sanity.

 

     A year after the birth of Starak, Tlasus died, defying the prognosis of every physician on Meldana that he would live another decade. His parting words as he lay on their bed where she sat beside him, holding his hand would be indelibly engraved in her mind.

     “I want you to arrange a contract with Spock, between Starak and his daughter T’Manda.”

     “If he is agreeable,” she promised, smoothing his hair gently with the back of her hand.

     Tlasus took her hand, holding it to his shrunken chest, once so fully formed and firm, now pale as…as death.

     “Remember these words, my love. Within the year, Spock’s wife will die or desert him. I know not which, but he will be left alone with his two children. He will need you then, Vera.”

     “I will do whatever possible for their futures.”

     “I wish I had lived as long as the doctors first predicted, but these few years have been most precious.”

     “They have been precious to me, too.”

     “Oh, my wife, my dear _marrithra,_ if only I knew the words to tell you how they have blessed me and how precious you are and always have been.”

     As he spoke, she held his hand, until he closed his eyes in peace and tranquility, sparing her that final moment when the light of life leaves the body and the eyes go dull. Then, a bit emotionally and voice choked with sadness at the end of their marriage, Vera spoke what would become the traditional Meldanan words of parting.

     “Peace be with your essence, my husband.”

 

     Days later, Vera stood high on a barren hill near the outskirts of the town called Shaltar, Spock beside her, the light breeze ruffling her loose clothing as they watched the building of Regency Hall and the people milling about below.

     “Our ancestors have returned to help us,” Spock voiced. “Already each woman has borne at least one child.”

     “Yes, it seems they tired or immortality and knew our need to be greater than their own.”

     She glanced up at Spock just then, and noticed him looking down, the expression on his face one of seeing her in a different light than in the past.

     “I believe Sarek’s essence returned first, through my son Selton.”

     "Yes. He missed Amanda, greatly, but since she was Human her soul went elsewhere at death. Did the essence of Sarek ever visit you, Spock? Did you ever make amends with your father?”

     “The answer to both questions is, no. Did he visit you?”

      "He did," said Vera, lowering her head to regard the people in the valley. The matter of Spock’s alienation from his parents was a touchy subject.

      “I am leaving soon,” she heard him say, and glanced his way before returning her eyes to the scene below.

      “Oh.” What more could she say?

      “I’m returning to Starfleet.”

      “I miss the Service and sometimes wish I could return to those less demanding days.”

      “But you are needed here and shall always be needed…here.”

     “My one desire is to be a woman like all women.”

     “Except you are not and never shall be. I learned that fact many years ago.”

     Her eyes finally met his. “You know?”

     “I knew, despite our attempts, things were never meant to be between us.”

     “And now the new High Council removes my last task, that of choosing my new consort.”

     “I’ve heard rumors it will be another Romulan.”

     “All Romulans are Meldanans, now, just as you and I.”

     “Old habits die slowly.”

     “Anyway, I have neither need nor desire for a consort.”

     “Hmm,” was Spock’s only comment.

     “I’m not a male with cyclic urges, Spock. I’m a woman in complete control of my body.”

     “You still have difficulty controlling your anger, however.”

     “Please, must we speak harshly this last time?”

     “You know, then, this may be the last time, for many years, perhaps forever?      Vera turned her head away, unable to endure his dark, penetrating and accusing gaze a moment longer.

     “Tlasus taught me to see the future,” she said barely above a whisper. “I know our future encounters will be brief and infrequent.” She turned her attention to the valley. “Time grows short. You must leave.”

     Below, the ever-increasing mass of buildings drew both their attentions before she could feel Spock’s eyes on her, again.

     “Meldana shall live and prosper,” she heard and then felt him take her hand. “Live long and prosper, T’Pira.”

     She met his face, hers radiating a new glow of wisdom and maturity since Tlasus’ death, as if that stressful event had transferred all those things he possessed to Vera.

     “That is Vulcan, Spock, and we can no longer claim that right. We are Meldanans, now. Let our greeting reflect hope for peace. May peace be yours, Spock, at long last.”

     “And may peace be yours.”

     Their hands touched in the first Meldanan salute, a gesture unlike the old Vulcan one but, like the Meldanan race, not so different from the original. The outer fingers spread, leaving the two middle ones touching, formed the first letter of the Old Vulcan word for Peace— _W’letkal_. And, with the contact of their fingers, a new understanding took root between Spock and Vera, an understanding, a special rapport which would engender generation after generation of universal tolerance in the Meldanan people—the descendants of the First Matriarch of Meldana, the one of the Golden Eyes, and of the Ancestor.

 

Not really The End.

 

Continued in “Rites of Passage”

    

    

 

 

    

  

  

 

 

    


End file.
